


In the Crosshairs

by Nice_Valkyrie



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Power Play, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nice_Valkyrie/pseuds/Nice_Valkyrie
Summary: Being a good soldier is just as simple as following orders.





	In the Crosshairs

Riza stared down at the arrangement on Kimblee’s desk, resisting the urge to clench her fists. She hadn’t even had a moment to herself after coming off sentry duty: he had found her as soon as she had left her post. He must have just come from the showers, for his hair was damp and his skin flushed, but that didn’t explain the uncomfortable heat that lingered in the shoulder where he had touched her to guide her into his tent. He had somehow managed to place his hand exactly where her muscles had been aching and tight from her long shift, and now her entire body felt just as tense.

On the small desk beside his cot was arranged a set of shaving implements.

Something sick and angry turned over in Riza’s stomach.

“I would greatly appreciate your assistance with this,” Kimblee said. “I would take care of it myself, naturally, but I’m afraid my hands have been rather shaky as of late.”

Not for the first time, Riza wondered what she had done. Not to deserve this treatment—she lay awake each night pondering her sins—but to draw his attention. Of course, she was the only female soldier in his squadron. But these favors had very little to do with the fact that she was a woman and he was a man, and everything to do with the cold, callous thing that lurked behind his bright eyes. It could have been anybody. But it was her.

Riza examined the tools. The brush looked like badger’s fur. Expensive, probably, like the razor, whose handle was made from wood of a deep reddish-brown. The soap, when she brought it to her nose, was different, too—not the burning, caustic smell of their camp-issue toiletries, but soft and almost flowery.

There was no point in delaying. Riza dipped the brush in the small bowl of water and began whipping the surface of the soap into a rich lather, her arm moving almost of its own volition. Behind her, the cot creaked as Kimblee sat on its edge.

When she turned, he was regarding her solemnly, his hands folded neatly in his lap. With his back straight, his mouth was almost at a level with her chest. Not that he was looking there. His eyes fluttered closed as Riza worked the foam up his cheek in precise swirls.

It had been years since she had last done this, but the motions were familiar. There was a chance she could get through the whole trial without thinking, if only Kimblee would let her. A very, very small chance.

That hope disappeared as soon as a bit of soap dripped on his shoulder. Riza wiped it away with the side of her hand, without even blinking at the contact. It had only gotten easier to touch him. The first time, when he had come up behind her to tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear, she had nearly shot his nose off. But when he had touched her shoulder, before, a small, disgusting part of her had wished he would dig his knuckles in to ease some of the tension.

She picked up the razor and flicked it open, inspecting the blade. “This is sharp.”

“I certainly hope so.”

It wasn’t so bad, Riza told herself as she drew the skin taut on one cheek. He couldn’t do anything truly dangerous to her while she was holding a blade practically to his neck. With that comforting thought, she leaned in and slid the razor lightly across his cheek. He let out a faint but unmistakable sigh when the metal touched his skin. Swallowing her nausea, Riza swiped a finger over the patch to check how close of a shave she had managed. Kimblee’s skin was soft and damp and warm, and he followed her hand with his eyes as she pulled it away.

“You’ve done this before,” he observed as she wiped the blade clean on the towel folded across his shoulder.

“My father.”

He processed that for a moment. Clearly, he had been hoping to instruct her through each step. Perhaps, Riza thought bitterly as she wet the blade again, he had even wanted her to be inexperienced so that she would inadvertently draw blood. She readied herself for the next stroke.

“You have a gentle and steady hand, cadet,” he said, forcing her to hesitate over his cheek. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this for me.”

“This will go faster if I don’t have to stop in between, sir.”

“But I so enjoy our conversations. Do your best to work around me.”

Riza bit her lip. The air was still, heavy with the scent of soap, and Riza’s nose itched as she continued. Kimblee’s posture hadn’t changed, still ramrod-straight, but his eyes lidded slightly in pleasure each time she touched him.

“Your father…” he said at the next opportunity. “Is he the only other man you’ve shaved?”

The knot in her stomach tightened. “Yes, sir.”

“How charming. You must have been so dutiful. I suppose that could explain why you became a soldier.”

He had spread his legs apart, like he expected her to stand—or kneel—between them. Riza bent forward instead to clear his upper lip with short, quick strokes, though she couldn’t prevent her knee from pressing against his thigh. She could see—vaguely, a target resolving itself in the distance—that she wasn’t going to be able to safely get under his chin if she was standing. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to focus on her options yet.

“I must confess,” he said between her passes, “a part of me thinks you would make a wonderful alchemist.”

Riza nearly brought the razor down against his lip, and had to yank it back sharply. “You really shouldn’t talk, sir,” she said, repositioning.

“Oh, I trust you not to make a mistake."

Riza walked around to his other side without answering.

“That’s why your objection to alchemy puzzles me,” Kimblee went on, tilting his head to give her a better angle. “You can’t deny that my efficiency far outstrips yours. The deployment of a new ability would make you a better soldier. Don’t you value that?”

Had he turned his palm up purposefully? Regardless, Riza had to tear her gaze away from it. She needed to maintain her focus. Another stroke with the razor, another stripe of smooth, pale skin revealed. “Efficiency isn’t the only thing that matters.”

“You don’t agree? Tell me this, then,” said Kimblee. “Say you have a dozen Ishvallans approaching your post. Is it kinder to kill them all at once, or one at a time?”

“It’s the same,” said Riza. She was almost free; his throat was all that remained. And she wouldn’t go between his legs. She wouldn’t.

“Is it?”

“Stand up,” she said.

Kimblee got to his feet, and Riza forced herself to return within his reach. He wasn’t more than a few inches taller than her, but close like this, it felt like he towered over her. The long, pale curve of his neck was at eye level and the danger hummed all around her like an embrace. “You’ll need to look up, sir,” she said hoarsely.

“Like this?” he said, tilting his head back.

Riza swallowed. Even through the lather, she could see his pulse beating in his neck, a small, even throbbing. She smoothed the skin with her thumb and lifted the razor. “Hold still.”

Kimblee’s hand was suddenly on her wrist, and she flinched. The edge of the blade was poised over his neck, just a hair’s breadth between his skin and the steel, and his grip was firm enough that she couldn’t pull away.

“I wonder if you would answer differently if you weren’t a sniper. You think it’s different to kill a man from afar and to kill him up close, don’t you?”

His other hand came up and settled on her waist. Riza couldn’t entirely suppress her shudder. “Major—”

“You’re shaking,” he said. His fingertips were pinpricks of fire. “Please be careful.”

His hand slid down her side, until his thumb pressed against the hard nub of her hipbone. He followed the line of her arm across her body to where he held her, and a muted pleasure suffused his face. “Don’t be nervous,” he said softly, and then he let go of her wrist, and closed his eyes.

His pulse was under her thumb, steady and insistent, and it would be so easy—and, at last, she allowed herself the fantasy. She thought of slicing. She thought of how, because they were standing like this, the blood would spill on her, too, hot and coppery.

Riza slid the razor gently across Kimblee’s throat until there was nothing but smooth, unbroken skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, taking her hand and lowering it back to her side. “I never doubted you.”

Riza twisted out of his grasp.

He only smiled, wiping the foam away with the towel and rubbing his jaw. “My goodness, I haven’t felt so well-groomed in quite a while. You’re very good at this. I may have to enlist your services again.”

Riza stared down at the razor in her hands. “Yes, sir.”

“I hope those tremors aren’t troubling you,” he said kindly. “Has your shot suffered? How many men did you kill yesterday?”

“Three, sir.”

“This war will be over before we know it.” The amusement was thick in his voice. “And what about your shift today?”

Riza snapped the razor shut.

“None, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [That Hoopy Frood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Hoopy_Frood/pseuds/That%20Hoopy%20Frood) for looking this over; their insightful critique helped make it a much stronger piece overall.


End file.
